


The Secret Language of Lehnsherrs

by DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee



Series: Growing Up Lehnsherr [1]
Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Anya is a good daughter, Charles Being Concerned, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Complicated Relationships, Erik Has Feelings, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Erik is a Father, Erik is a Sweetheart, Erik is not a Happy Bunny, F/M, Father-Daughter Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 11:26:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5373608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee/pseuds/DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For someone who hates feelings, Erik gets dragged into an alarming number of conversations about them.<br/>In which there are confessions, declarations, awkward first meetings, accidents, explanations, endings and beginnings.</p>
<p>Otherwise know as Five Conversations Erik Didn't Want to Have and One That He Did. </p>
<p>(Powered Modern AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Most of the chapters of this fic take place before the events of 'At Home With the Lehnsherrs' while some occur concurrently.

**Chapter 1: Age 17**

When Erik told his mother that Magda was pregnant Edie Lehnsherr cried.  Then she yelled and cried some more and yelled again until she finally ran out of words and tears and then just sort of settled into soggy silence.  Erik, who had stoically endured the emotional onslaught, continued to stand, one hand wrapped around the other hand’s wrist, stance wide and steady, eyes cast down, like a solider at parade rest being dressed down by his commanding officer.  He was silent. He could hear the blood rushing through his ears in a tidal wave of red and he could feel the small muscles in his fingers trying to shake even as he held them still.  He could feel the tiny vibrations in every scrap of metal in his and his mother’s apartment and he could feel his will aching as he tamped down the urge to just let it all just fly apart around him. 

            He fucked up. He doesn’t have the right to a tantrum.

            Finally Edie took a deep breath and looked up at him, “Fine, fine,” she said, voice definite and sure and Erik had no idea what that meant and he could feel his stomach twisting and his heart trying to push inwards, to hide itself under the rest of his organs.

            Erik didn’t ask he what was ‘fine’.  He didn’t want to interrupt.  And he was fairly certain he’d lost the use of his vocal chords somewhere around the second bout of Edie crying. 

            “Fine. We’ll handle this. We’ll work through it.”

            Erik didn’t respond, but he did look up. 

            Edie raised her eyebrows at him, “Well, ignoring it wouldn’t help any.  You have a problem, you have something difficult in your life; then you make a plan, you figure out what to do about it. You don’t just wait for it to go away, that’s pointless.  Now get your coat.”

            Erik didn’t ask her why, but it must have shown on his face because Mama huffed and said, “We’re going over to Magda’s house.  We need to have a conversation with her.  There are things that need to happen and decisions that need to be made and we’re going to be a part of them, yes?  Good. Now get your coat. And a scarf. Don’t want you to catch cold.” 

…

            When Erik told his mother that he was keeping Anya and he didn’t care what Edie said and he didn’t care what Magda’s parents said, and Magda has already signed away her rights but Erik was stupid and he looked at Anya before he picked up the pen and he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t let that little girl go, not when she was a part of him, and _he was keeping his daughter, dammit,_ Edie didn’t cry.  She didn’t shout. His Mama just looked at him with soft, sad, wise eyes and said “Of course.” 

            And that was, of course, when Erik broke down and hurled himself into Mama’s arms and cried, shaking and furious for no good reason but so filled with fierce, protective love he didn’t know what to do with himself.  Newly 17 and fully aware of how stupid he was, he let Mama stroke his hair and tell him that of course they would take Anya home, and she would have her own crib and that Erik and his daughter would _stay right there_ until Erik had his bachelor’s degree, even if he had to take online classes and work from home because her son and granddaughter were going to have a future, dammit, and that was all there was to it.

            And Erik stayed, and Erik took online classes, and Erik scrounged scrap metal from the junkyard and worked on his sculptures at night after curious little girls named Anya had safely gone to bed.  When he was 19 he sold his first piece to a gallery, and when he was almost 21 he had secured his bachelor’s degree and a gallery in a university town not so far away was taking a serious interest in his work.  So, not-quite freshly 21, Erik and his daughter left home for the first time and moved to that town with that university.

            Their first day in town four-year-old Anya threw a fistful of straws at an unsuspecting coffee shop owner with the bluest eyes since Crayola, who offered to let them stay at his place until they’d settled in. 

            Mama just smiled enigmatically at him when Erik told her about _that._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Age 21**

            ‘This is not what it looks like’ is really a very terrible way to begin a conversation. Especially when you’re only wearing a towel.  And a borrowed towel at that. And talking to a stranger. In a house that is not your own. Really, any combination of talking to a stranger while wearing a borrowed towel in a house that doesn’t belong to you is fairly awful, but add the words ‘this is not what it looks like’ to it and your conversational ship is very well sunk. 

            The woman was smirking at him. The woman was smirking at him and he was wearing a towel and goddammit, his hair was dripping wet and his clothes were in the room behind her.  He’d have to walk through her to get to his clothes. 

            This was a prime example of why staying at a friends’ house is a really terrible idea. Because people who are willing to be friends with the likes of Erik Lehnsherr are obviously pathologically friendly people that need to be stopped before they befriend the rest of the world and part of the rest of the world wanders into the aforementioned house while the house’s owner is at work, and conversations like this happen.

            Erik is well aware that this logic makes no sense.  He is almost comfortable with that. 

            This did not change any of the facts of the situation at hand, though.  And he was getting cold. 

            “I’m pretty sure I know _exactly_ what this is _and_ what it looks like.” The woman was blonde. And she was still smirking. Erik glared.  Erik was good at glaring.  Erik’s glares could and would make small children cry.  Except for his own, because obviously Anya had superior fortitude, or maybe just inherited some seriously warped genes from his side of the family.  Four years in and that puzzle still hadn’t been solved. 

            Speaking of Anya… “Daddy?”

            Still glaring at the interloper and wishing he could just summon his clothes with his mind, Erik called back, “Yes, _schatz_.”

            “I spilled my juice.”

            “I’ll be there in a minute.”

            “M’kay, Daddy.”

            “Don’t touch anything!”

            “But…”

            “No.”

            “M’kay…”

            The woman wasn’t smirking anymore.  Her expression had sort of slipped and warped like soft clay finally giving in to gravity’s call.

            Erik’s glare, which had softened as he spoke to Anya (he _really_ hoped she wasn’t touching anything, god knows what a 4-year-old could get up to in a kitchen without juice and waffles to distract her), snapped back into place as he eyed the blonde woman.  She really was rather pretty, with soft, delicate features and glittering, intelligent eyes.  “What? Not what you expected?” So he was hostile, Erik was always hostile. 

            “Honestly? No, most of my brother’s conquests don’t come with children.”

            Erik bristled at the implication.  “Well, your expectations are safe, I’m not a conquest; I’m a friend.  My daughter’s just part of the package.”  Wait.  Brother. Shit.  “You’re Raven, aren’t you?” 

            Raven arched an eyebrow. “The one and only.  Any you are?”

            “The guy your brother’s going to yell at for being rude to his sister?”  Erik sighed.  He’d only know Charles a month and he already hated it when the other man got upset. That involved _feelings,_ which were just sort of exhausting and confusing.

            “Yeah, buddy, I was kind of aiming for a name.” 

            “Daddy, the juice is still spilled!  It’s been a really long time; can I touch stuff now?” 

            “No!” he called back, getting steadily more exasperated, more cold (he missed his clothes so much right now), and more irritatingly guilty for his perfectly reasonable hostile reaction to the woman who obviously had questions about the strange man wandering around her brother’s house in a towel. 

            Raven looked like she was trying not to laugh.  “I’m sorry, you look really miserable.” 

            “What gave it away?” Erik said, tone as dry as the Sahara.

            “Go, go grab your clothes, I’ll see if I can help your daughter with her juice crisis.”

            Erik narrowed his eyes at her and, when all he saw in her face was helpless amusement and the genuine desire to help, nodded slowly. “I’m Erik, my daughter’s name is Anya. We just moved here; your brother’s letting us stay with him until we find a more permanent place.”

            Raven rolled her eyes and laughed, tossing her blonde curls, “That sounds just like Charles.”

            “ _Daddy!”_ Anya’s voice interrupted, “ _Juice!_ ” 

            “I’ll see what I can do,” Raven shrugged, “Oh, and since we’re doing the introduction thing: Raven Xavier, undergrad who lives in the dorms, does her laundry for free at her brother’s house, occasionally chases out his lingering one-night-stands, and apparently makes really rude assumptions about his friends.”

            Erik nodded, “Can I get to the guest room now?  I need my clothes.”

            Raven laughed, “Good to meet you, Erik.” 

            Erik just sort of grunted in response, but maybe, just maybe, underneath the social stumbling, this could be the beginning of a halfway decent friendship. 

            “ _Daaaaaddy!”_

            But first, clothes. Then, juice. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Age 27**

            “Magda.”

            The woman on his doorstep grinned uncertainly at him, “Hey, Erik.  It’s been a long time,” 

            “Five years,” he clarified coolly.

            “A long time,” she reiterated.

            “Why are you here?”

            “Why are you so hostile?” she asked, shifting the canvas duffle bag on her shoulder, “Shouldn’t you be happy to see me?” 

            “Magda, why are you here?” Erik asked again, an edge to his words. Outside the sun had mostly sunk; all that was left of it were a few red stained clouds and purple wisps being eaten up by the darkness.  Five years. Five years since Magda’s last visit. She was right; it was a long time.

            “I’m visiting my daughter, Erik, I do that on occasion.  It seems a little absurd that you’d take issue with it.” 

            ‘On occasion’ was exactly what Erik took issue with.  He didn’t say anything; crossing his arms and just watching the shadows flicker across Magda’s face as the street light behind her sputtered on.  He reached out to it with his senses, making sure it was working right, going over every aspect of it in painstaking detail, grounding himself in the simplicity of a functioning machine.

            Magda sighed, “Erik, I hate it when you do that.”  

            “What?” he turned his attention back to her, giving her a level, even look, his arms crossed across his chest. Hostile.  That was Erik, always hostile. 

            She sighed, and her eyes were soft and fond, but distant, always distant.  She blamed him, he knew.  She blamed him for so many, many things.  That was okay.  His shoulders were broad; he could take the burden.

            “When you stop paying attention to people because you like machines better.”

            Erik pressed his lips together, “We all have our little distractions,” he said, and he could almost feel the frost on his tongue from how cold the words tasted. 

            Magda flinched, “That’s not fair.”

            “Life isn’t fair, Magda,” Erik said and it wasn’t a dig, it wasn’t an insult, it was a fact, hard and bruising. 

            She clenched her jaw and there it was, there was the fire.  That was what he’d loved about her.  They were so similar, two burning brands, and when they were together, and for just a few moments, years ago, when they were still young, they were a bonfire, a comet, something hot and bright and fast.  But fire isn’t self-sustaining.

            “Don’t act so high and mighty just because you made different choices, _Erik_ ,” she said, pressing closer, fingers white-knuckled on her duffle bag, “You could have easily done what I did, we _planned_ on you doing what I did, but no, you couldn’t follow the plan, you had to take the high road.”

            “Would you like to come in?” Erik asked stiffly and she blinked at the redirect, head snapping up and to the side as she considered him.

            “What?”

            “I don’t want to have this fight on my front porch,” Erik said evenly, measuring each word before setting it down. 

            Magda’s face crumpled a bit, “Why do you always do that?” she asked, quiet and hard.

            “What?” His voice was flat and smooth, like a mirror.

            “Make me feel like a bad person.” 

            Erik opened the door and stepped aside, giving her room to enter but Magda stayed on the porch, holding her ground, resolute.

            “I don’t even think you mean to do it, you just _do_. You with your black-and-white morals, and your ideas about good and bad and your categories and your _boxes._   I’ve known you forever, Erik; don’t think I don’t know how your mind works. You sort everything into these tidy little categories and you expect them to _stay_ there. And I don’t know what it is but whenever I stand here I feel like I’ve _disappointed_ you. Like there’s an entrance exam to be in your life and I’ve somehow _failed. And I don’t know why._ I don’t even think you mean to do it and that drives me nuts.  It drives me nuts that you can just _exist_ and somehow make me feel like I don’t measure up to you.  I drives me nuts that you never insult me, you never demean or hurt me and I’m still hyper-aware of everything I have ever done wrong when I’m in your presence.  It drives me completely crazy that I can’t seem to do anything right for our daughter! I gave her up because I thought that was the only way for she and I to have any kind of future and then there’s _you_ throwing it all away and telling me it’s okay, that I need to have my future, that I deserve it and it’s ridiculous and awful and I feel all this guilt for not seeing her and then when I do I feel all this guilt for intruding in her life, and Erik, I can’t take it. I can’t.” 

            Silence hung shattered between them as Magda gasped, dragging air back into her chest after her tirade.

“Anya is at a friend’s house working on a project,” Erik said evenly, “She will be back soon.  Would you like to come in?” 

Magda gave a choked little cry of frustration and grabbed him, just let her duffle drop to the porch and grabbed him, dragging Erik in by the shirt and slamming her mouth into his. 

There had always been something there. There was always something burning. And when they were young it had been pure and good, the kind of fire that shooting stars and campfires and sweet, simple things were made of.  And now, older, wiser, more jaded and scarred and complicated, it was painful, a kind of scorching intensity that burned houses to the ground and trailed after meteors as they streaked towards Earth. 

Magda pulled back but kept him close, her fingers had migrated up to his face and he could feel them, tense and trembling against his cheekbones.  “I wanted so many things, Erik.” 

“That was a long time ago.” 

“I know.  Do you hate me?” 

“You know I can’t.  And it’s not fair to ask.  So don’t.”

“Do you love me?” 

He paused, and a second he could almost smell smoke. “No.  And it’s not fair to ask that, either.” 

“So don’t,” she finished his sentence for him.

He nodded and gently took her wrists and pulled her hands from his face, drawing them down until they sat, turned up, her open palms like pale flowers in the fading light, between their chests. He kissed her once, gentle and forgiving.  Erik Lehnsherr was a man made out of sharp angles and sharper edges but there is always room between the edges and angles for something else.

He pulled away and let go of her hands. They stared at each other for a few moments more.  He stepped back and she nodded. 

“Come back and visit Anya sometime. She misses you,” Erik said, and there was more beneath those words, a hundred unspoken phrases, but that was all sort of irrelevant, wasn’t it? 

Magda nodded and scooped up her duffle bag, turning away and walking down the path.  “I’ll pick her up from school tomorrow, okay?  Take her out for ice cream, have some,” she made a vague gesture, “Have some time.”

Magda was trying.  She really was. 

Erik nodded, “School ends at 2:30.  Don’t be late.” 

She gave him a thin smile. “Okay.  We’ll have dinner out too, she’ll be home by 7:30.”

 “Good.”

He watched her walk to the bus stop, saw her get on board and watched the bus pull away.  Erik was about to turn away and close the door when he realized who was coming up the walk. 

A disgruntled 10-year-old tromped up the steps onto the porch and folded her arms, “Dad, you are in so much trouble.”

Erik raised a cool eyebrow.

“Don’t give me that look. Mrs. Grey offered to drive me home after Jean and I were done working on our project and we pulled up just in time to _see you kissing Mom. With tongue._ Ugh, _Dad!_ I had to explain _everything_ to Mrs. Grey and now all the kids at school are going to think I’m a weirdo because of my weird, gross parents because you _know_ Mrs. Grey’s going to tell _the whole entire PTA_ about _you French-kissing Mom_. Gross!  Ew!  I’m gonna need therapy!” she continued her rant as she marched into the house, sloughing off her backpack in the entryway as Erik pulled the door shut behind them.

Finally free of her backpack and jacket, Anya whirled around to point at her father imperiously, “If _I’m_ not allowed to date until _I’m_ thirty, then neither are you.  So there.”

Erik wasn’t concerned about the PTA moms. They could chatter all they wanted, for all he cared.  And, no matter what she said, it didn’t look like Anya was all that traumatized by seeing her dad making out with her absentee mother. 

They were probably going to have a conversation about that one.  With feelings. In Anya’s words: Ugh.

In the meantime, Anya had switched from complaining about her ‘trauma’ to leveraging it in a campaign for cartoons and an extended bedtime.  Oh well, one episode of _The Justice League_ wouldn’t hurt.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Age 29**

Erik Lehnsherr was not a man prone to car accidents. Or accidents of any kind, really. Everything he did was intentional, deliberate, and highly planned.  He learned his lesson when he ended up with a kid at age 17. No accidents. 

            That didn’t really explain why his ears were ringing, his head spinning and every extra sense he possessed screaming like some inconsiderate bastard was playing extremely aggressive violin on every last nerve.  Then he opened his eyes. 

            The first thing he noticed was sunlight, sharp and jagged, spearing through the fractured remnants of his windshield.  Remnants? Where had the rest of his windshield gone?  What kind of asshole took only part of a windshield?  What kind of windshield wandered off like that? 

            A red lighting bolt of pain streaked through the back of his eyes and everything went dim for a few moments.

            What was probably, in hindsight, more than a few moments later, Erik’s eyelids stuttered open to the unwelcome sight of a stranger in an EMT’s uniform leaning a bit too far into his personal space.  A barrage of questions thundered through Erik’s still-ringing ears and it took him a few ragged breaths to figure out that they were coming from the personal-space-invading EMT and he should probably answer them. 

            “Do you know your name?” “Do you know who the president is?” “How many fingers am I holding up?”

            Erik could feel his eyes shuttering closed, retreating from the penlight the EMT was flashing in his face. “ _Stop that,_ ” he growled, “ _And shut up_.”

            “Sir? Sir?  Sir, you need to answer my questions.”  The EMT was young, eyes wide and slightly frightened.

            “ _Erik Lehnsherr.  Obama. Three.  Now fuck off._ ”

            “Sir?” the EMT was getting hysterical and Erik couldn’t fathom _why_. He’d answered all the annoying questions, hadn’t he?  There was no need to get all worked up about it. Red sparks were dancing on the edge of his vision again.  He’d answered all the questions.  He could go back to sleep now and baby-faced EMT could go to hell. 

            He held onto just enough clarity before allowing himself to slip back under to say “ _Call Charles Xavier; tell him he needs to pick up Anya from school.  I’ll be home soon._ ”

            The EMT was still babbling and the penlight was whirling like a strobe light across the backs of Erik’s eyelids but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Everything was taken care of. Charles would take Anya home. Erik would sort this all out, figure out where the rest of his windshield went and where the fiery sparks of pain stabbing through his body were going and hopefully be home for dinner. But just for now, he decided, it was okay to sleep.  Let baby EMT sort everything out. 

…

            Erik’s eyelids clicked open an uncertain amount of time later and his first thought was that he didn’t remember the world being this white.  He could hear machines humming around him, the steady rhythm of their artificial lives curling around the warm thread that tethered their metal components to Erik.  He could feel them in his heartbeat, taste the steel and copper on his tongue, map out their inner infinities with his mind.

            It would be so easy to get lost in the lure of all that beautiful structure. 

            “Erik.”

            There was someone else in the room.  Now that he focused, drawing his attention away from his surroundings was far more difficult than he might have expected, he could feel the warm thud of a heartbeat against a stainless steel watch, a ballpoint pen forgotten in a pocket, a ring of keys rattling beside it. 

            “Erik,” the other person said again and Erik rolled his head towards the voice, tracking the restless slide of the watch as the stranger (stranger?  Really?  Unlikely, that watch was familiar; that voice too) fiddled restlessly with it.

            Erik must have made some sort of sound because the other person looked up, blue eyes large and liquid, shirt wrinkled, starched collar askew, mahogany hair rumpled.

            “Charles,” Erik said, and such an overwhelming tide of warmth crashed into him at the word that it almost overrode the dull ache that seemed determined to consume his whole body.

            “You’re really awake,” his friend said a little breathlessly, the stark fluorescent light of the hospital room painting his face with strange shadows, turning his fair skin even paler.

            “No, I’m faking it,” Erik grumbled and Charles beamed for a moment before the expression stuttered and shifted.

            “No, wait, I’m very upset with you.  Yes, very put out. Erik, you _idiot_.”

            Erik blinked. Unsure of what to say he just opted for a simple “Yes?” 

            “ _Cars aren’t just made of metal, you know_ ,” Charles snapped, “So the next time you _stupidly_ decide to get hit by a truck…I don’t know…Don’t assume you’re invincible! You were really very badly hurt and you terrified that poor EMT on the scene when you woke up and were only speaking German and he didn’t know if you had brain damage and- and I’m really very irritated with you, Erik!” 

            Erik wasn’t really sure what to make of that and his best friend was looking less angry and more on the verge of tears than he liked, so he just sort of reached out a hand to him. “I’m here.” 

            Charles glared at him and Erik caught the edge of a messy cloud of hurt and fear and _ErikErikErikErik_ he was pretty sure the telepath didn’t mean to project.  Erik thought Charles might slap the hand away and maybe he would have in another life, another universe, but this wasn’t another life and it wasn’t another universe and Charles grabbed his fingers with both hands and clung, head bowed over Erik’s wrist almost like he was praying. 

            “Where’s Anya?” Erik asked into the silence.

            “She’s getting food. I sent her downstairs to the cafeteria. Erik, your _twelve-year-old daughter_ was understandably _very upset_ to see her father in a hospital bed.”

            A hot spike of guilt and shame joined the other little pains curling through his skin and bone.

            _He could still remember geography class, he remembers being 13 and having the school secretary come to get him because ‘Erik, there’s been an accident’, and ‘Erik, I’m going to drive you to the hospital, your mother’s already there’, and, ‘no, Erik I don’t know how your dad’s doing’, and, ‘I need you to come with me now, Erik’._

_The school secretary doesn’t come get you personally.  It doesn’t happen.  Not unless things have already gotten too bad to stop._

_Erik didn’t go back to geography class after that.  He got straight As that semester and failed geography because he couldn’t shake the feeling that if he went back the secretary would be there halfway through and tell him that it was his mother this time._

            “Erik?” There was Charles, tentative in a way that really didn’t suit him.  Charles should never be hesitant.  Charles should always be as shamelessly confident, as unabashedly, annoyingly, impossibly self-assured as ever.  If Charles was unsure, then the world was clearly off it’s axis.

            “Erik, what happened?” Charles was asking and he hadn’t let go of Erik’s hands, not yet and Erik kind of liked that.

            “Winter happened. Some asshole pulled out too quickly, cut in front of a cargo truck.  Truck tried to slow down, I was behind it, in the next lane, I helped, but I stopped it too quickly, it skid and the cargo part?  It swings, when that thing stops too quickly.  Had to slow down to focus on it and the car behind me couldn’t. Tried to help that guy too, split focus, happened too quickly, car behind the out-of-control truck began to skid too and we all sort of ended up piled together.”

            “And you were in the middle, you ridiculous man.” 

            “Yes.”

            “No one else was seriously hurt.  You know that, right? It was just you. You saved so many people.”

            Erik rolled his eyes. People.  But that didn’t tamp down the burst of warmth in his chest at the thought that he’d maybe done a good thing, something to be proud of, maybe.

            Charles gave him the sly smile that meant he knew exactly what Erik was thinking no matter how much Erik didn’t say it. 

            “Shut up.” Erik grouched at him. Charles was a good best friend. Probably the best.

            “ _Dad_ ,” Anya’s voice came from the doorway.

            “Hello, _schatz._ ” 

            “Oh, god, _Dad_.” 

            And suddenly he had a preteen clinging to him and sniffling into the shoulder. He wrapped his other arm, the one Charles hadn’t latched onto, around her shoulders and she curled even closer.

            “Never, never, never do that again. You’re never driving again; got it, Dad?  I’m taking away your keys.  And no tv for a month.  I’m telling Grandma about this.  You’re in so much trouble.  Oh, god, Daddy, you’re so _grounded_ , you made me worry so much.” 

            Erik laughed, a harsh, rasping sound and Anya’s babble slowed down, petering out until there was nothing but silence left in the hospital room.  “I love you,” Anya said, voice quiet and watery.

            “I know, _schatz._   I know.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Age 30**

            Erik’s mother had offered to cover ‘The Talk’ with Anya.  An offer that Erik politely (or not-so-politely, it was all relative) refused.

            “ _Schatz,_ why?  This conversation is already horrible for a young girl.  Add her father into the mix and that just makes it worse.”

            “Mama. No.” 

            “Erik, _schatz,_ why not?  You’re just making trouble for yourself.” 

            “Because your version of ‘The Talk’ didn’t exactly work on me,” he said dryly, “I shudder to think what might happen if you tried it a second time on my hormonal offspring.”

            Edie huffed a laugh and lightly smacked him with a potholder, “See if I cook for you again. Ingrate.” 

            “I’ll handle ‘The Talk’, Mama. Don’t worry about it.”

            Edie snorted doubtfully and Erik elected to ignore that.

…

            “You said _what_ to your mother?”  Charles gave him a despairing look a week later.

            “She took it very well,” Erik said defensively.  Even though he had nothing to feel defensive about.  Nothing at all.  Shut up, inner voice.

            Charles sighed at him and gave him another look, “Edie Lehnsherr is a lovely woman and doesn’t deserve you.”

            “Well I knew that,” Erik huffed and stole a muffin from behind the counter, ignoring the exasperated huff from Charles.

            “You are a menace. No more caffeine for you. Go make more old ladies sad. It sounds like you’re very good at it,” Charles said; voice all haughty British pretension.

            Erik laughed at him, “Do _you_ want to be the one to give Anya ‘The Talk’?” he said teasingly, gratified when Charles gave a full-body shudder and shot him a look at such complete horror Erik couldn’t help laughing again.

            “I hardly think I’m the best example of how to keep and maintain healthy adult relationships, Erik.”

            Erik shrugged, and tore another piece off his muffin, “No children out of wedlock, you’re already doing better than me.” 

            “Ah, but no stable long-term relationships either.” 

            Erik further shredded his muffin, popping chunks into his mouth and savoring the taste. Raven, who had sworn she would have nothing to do with Brain Xavier’s coffee empire legacy, nothing at all, stop asking, Charles, was a brilliant baker.  She and her ever-expanding crew of lackeys supplied all of Charles’ coffee shops with baked goods and had even finagled deals with a few locally-owned grocery co-ops. 

            “You haven’t managed to alienate Raven, Anya, Hank, or me,” Erik offered, more focused on the muffin than the conversation.

            “Mmm, yes, my sister, best friend’s daughter, my grad student and my best friend.  Yes.  A stellar platonic track record I have there.” 

            Erik gave him a look, “Better than most.” 

            Charles eyes softened and he sighed, “Of course, my friend.  I didn’t mean for that to devolve into self-pity. I’m not nearly as lonely and pathetic as I make myself sound.” 

            “You’d better not be, if you were the town would stage a protest,” Erik said flatly, mischief glittering like danger in his eyes, “There would be interventions, the authorities would have to be called, suitors would have to offer a sacrificial goat for the chance to court you, it could get messy.” 

            Charles tried to respond but couldn’t quite manage it past the laughter that shuddered through his body.  He wasn’t a big man, more compact than anything else, and every time he laughed his whole body seemed to share the joke. 

            Finally getting himself back under control, Charles sighed, “I didn’t expect that, your occasional bursts of humor always seem to catch me by surprise.”

            “As they should,” Erik nodded gravely, earning a smile from his friend. 

            “And you need to stop procrastinating and give your daughter ‘The Talk’.”

            Erik huffed, “Don’t they teach it in school these days?” he asked hopefully.

            “ _Erik._ ”

…

            “Dad, we need to have a talk,” Anya interrupted Erik’s game of chess (against himself, which was not nearly as fun as playing against Charles but his best friend was a dirty rotten cheater who was refusing to play with him until he followed up on his promise to handle ‘The Talk’ with Anya, and the computer sucked.) 

            Erik looked up from contemplating yet another victory (or defeat, depending on which ‘self’ he identified with in this game …and the whole thing was really very meta). “Yes?” 

            Anya settled into one of the kitchen chairs beside him, picking up one of the already defeated pieces, toying with it, running her fingers over the smooth planes of it. Erik had made the set, it was a prototype of a piece he’d been commissioned to make for a client, and it was more work of art than toy.  Although, considering how durable it way, it could probably count as deadly weapon too.

            “Dad, we need to talk.”

            “You mentioned that,” Erik remarked dryly. 

            “You’ve been a little….weird. Lately.  Yeah, weird.  You’re a pretty broody person; I get it.  Well, no I don’t, because I’m not Batman or a tortured artist, but still. The contemplative-silences-accompanied-by-glaring-into-the-void…they’re a little weird.  A lot weird. So what’s up?”

            Erik just sort of stared at her.  Damn him for having a perceptive kid. 

            “Dad?”

            “Your grandmother thinks that since you’re 13 now, we need to have ‘The Talk’.” 

            Anya blanched. “Permission to run away from this awkward conversation?”   
            “Permission granted.”

            Anya moved to stand and Erik shook his head, “No, wait.  Permission not granted.  Sit down.”

            His daughter, uncertain in the face of this unexpected turn of events, resettled into her chair. “This is going nowhere good, is it?”

            “No.”

            Silence.

            “Are you going to - ?”

            “I’m thinking.”

            “Okay.”

            More silence.

            “You know, they cover this in school, Dad.”

            “I know.”

            Anya fiddled with the chess pieces.  Played a few moves. First just one on the side her dad wasn’t currently playing as, but then when he didn’t respond, she fiddled with the other side too. She was five moves into her game against herself when Erik spoke again.

            “Don’t fuck up.”

            And then he was gone, retreating into the garage and his workshop and a buffer of angry German music and art that needed doing.

            “Dad? Dad!” Anya sighed and looked at the chess pieces, “Well that went well.” 

…

            Raven ultimately gave Anya ‘The Talk’. 

            “Erik Lehnsherr, you are a ridiculous human being,” Raven told him succinctly after spending a very informative hour with Anya over homemade soup in homemade bread bowls and a large batch of tester brownies. 

            “So we’re good?” Erik nodded towards Anya, who was still in Raven’s kitchen, putting together the ingredients for one of Raven’s new recipes and a new round of tester brownies. 

            Raven rolled her gold eyes; Erik had seen her true form soon after their first, bizarre meeting, as the years had progressed she’d grown more and more comfortable with it and now she went blue most days.  Today she wore a yellow and orange sundress and an artsy patchwork apron with brown combat boots that somehow all managed to look perfect against her cobalt scales. “We’re good, you weirdo. She’s a cool kid. I’d say her chances of STDs or unwanted pregnancy are low.” 

            Erik nodded, “Good.”

            “Now, do you want some brownies or do I have to eat the rest of them and get disgustingly fat?”

            Erik snorted, “I’m fairly certain your mutation doesn’t allow you to get fat.  Accelerated metabolism.”

            She poked him in the side, “Yeah, but you’re a really muscular twig and it’s making all of us normal people feel inadequate.” 

            “You have a gym membership.”

            “Shut up and eat your brownies. God, with you around it’s like having another brother.  At least with your kid I get to be the cool auntie.”  


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Age 35**

            “Why now?” Erik asked; finally releasing the question that had been brewing in his chest all night.

            Charles looked up, surprised. The streetlights caught in his eyes, making them shine, “I don’t understand the question.” 

            They wandered aimlessly, feet carrying them down Main Street, listening to the quiet sounds of 7 o’clock in a town too big to be sleepy and too small to be perilous after dark.

            “Don’t give me that, Charles. Anya set this date thing up and she tricked me, but she can’t lie to you.  You agreed to this.  Why?”

            “Why did I agree to this or why did I agree to this _now_? You’re asking two different questions.”

            “And you’re avoiding both of them,” Erik stopped and fixed him with a firm look that approached glare territory but didn’t quite cross over. 

            Charles looked at him, eyes tracking across his face, cataloguing something, Erik wasn’t quite sure what. “Would it be enough to say it just sounded like fun?” 

            “No, because you have more layers than a dammed onion and for a telepath you’re a pretty rotten liar,” Erik said bluntly but without venom.

            Charles laughed, suddenly and unexpectedly, “You really don’t give any ground, do you?”

            “No.”

            Charles beamed at him, sudden and bright, “So you want to know why I conspired with your daughter to trap you into a date with me?”

            Erik snorted, “Hardy trapped, I could walk away at any time.” 

            Charles shrugged, “Of course. But you didn’t. I should be asking you why.”

            “No mind games, Charles,” Erik’s voice was just this side of patient exasperation and it was a terrible, terrible sign that Charles found it sweet. 

            Charles sighed, “But Erik, I’m –” he paused, searching for words, “So very terrible at this, really. I’m really very good at being charming but surprisingly lack any sort of skill in the area of emotional honesty.”

            Erik raised an eyebrow at him as if to say ‘Really?’

            Charles sighed again, “Which is really no excuse, is it?  It’s just, it’s been such a long time and – ”

            “A long time since what?” Erik wasn’t giving Charles an inch of room to escape. 

            The telepath shrugged a little helplessly, “Since I met you and, I suppose I was waiting.”

            “For what?”

            “For Anya.” Whatever else Charles was going to say on the subject of Anya was lost in a string of mumbles.

            “ _Charles_.”

            “For Anya to say it was okay. I grew up with a horrible, unwanted step-parent, Erik.  I wasn’t going to chase after you when I knew what it was like to be the child in a family some adult had forced himself into.  It’s wrong!  And you’re laughing! Why are you laughing?” He yelped, flustered and exasperated and just adorably confused. 

            Erik leaned into his space, resting his forehead against Charles’ and grinning like a shark when the telepath’s breath stuttered to a halt at the contact.  “You are really a very ridiculous person, Charles Xavier. And you probably need a great deal of therapy.”

            “The same could be said of you, Erik Lehnsherr,” Charles grumbled and Erik’s grin widened.

            “Do you know how long Anya’s been teasing me about you?” Erik murmured into the space between them, “I’m pretty sure subterfuge was her last-ditch effort.” 

            “So why did you wait so long?” Charles’ was obviously trying to haughty and ended up just shy of petulant.  Erik had the image of a lonely little Charles Xavier left to his own devices day in and day out in that cavernous mansion his family had called a home and the thought of it made his insides twist painfully. 

            “Because I am a very fucked-up person who can’t see the obvious,” Erik said succinctly.

            “Maybe you need therapy too.”

            “No.”

            “Why not?” Charles grinned impishly at him.

            Quick as a shark scenting blood in the water, Erik lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Charles, drawing him in and holding him close as their heartbeats slowly synchronized.

            “Because I’ve already got everything I need,” he said against Charles’ temple.

            “Sap. Who says you have me?”

            “Because I’m not letting you go.” 

            “A sap and a kidnapper. My favorite.” 

            Erik squeezed him tighter in retaliation and was rewarded with gentle hands sliding up to comb through his hair, brushing across the angles of his face, cataloguing his features.

            Magda was fire, like Erik, and together they were an inferno, painful, beautiful and temporary. Charles was the earth itself, holding Erik steady, hemming his fire in, shaping it, keeping it safe. Stone didn’t burn. And for once, Erik felt safe and warm.

           


End file.
